


I Will Never Hurt You: A Collection of Sanrion Moments

by thelovelylydia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, This past week's episode never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelovelylydia/pseuds/thelovelylydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some short Sansa x Tyrion moments and sketches to commemorate an awesome power couple (who is still canonically married) or as Sophie put it- the Brangelina of Westeros :) Rating may go up. Prompts/Ideas always welcome. R&R. No Flames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take Me On

The bar smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap beer, and Sansa could not figure out why she had allowed her husband to bring her to such a sketchy hole in the wall as The Three Eyed Crow. She tucked her hands apprehensively into her front jean pockets, her flowing white shirt tickling the curve of her wrist as it billowed in the breeze of the pathetic clip on fan near the register. Tyrion was already ordering a beer for himself and a fruity cocktail for her.

“I still don’t understand what you find so appealing about this place,” Sansa groaned as she settled onto the stool next to him, her back leaning against the hard dark wooden surface of the bar.

“It’s great for a good time. I’ve been gone far too many weeks, and I figured why not start off our... _fun_...weekend doing something wild.” He grabbed for the handle of the mug pushed his way, the froth at the top spilling over the sides.

“Mmmm,” Sansa hummed sarcastically.

“And that is why I wanted to bring you here, get you to loosen up a bit.” He put his hand on her forearm, squeezing the limb gently, the fabric of his crimson red zip up sweatshirt was soft against her bare skin.

“I’d much rather order take away and watch television or something,” Sansa groaned. It had been a long week at work for her, and the last thing she dared want to risk was running into a coworker on her day off. Besides, she and Tyrion had been separated all week as he was travelling with his job; a quiet evening in was much more appealing.

But her husband always desired to live on the edge.

“We’ll do that tomorrow. There are three days in a weekend, let’s have a good time on one of them. A good and proper date.”

‘Fine,’ Sansa would just have to keep a stiff upper lip and pray to the gods that the two would be left alone for the week. ‘How was your trip then,” she reached behind her to grab hold of the drink the man next to her had ordered.

“Eh, regular shit, y’know,” He took large gulps of his beer, downing nearly half the drink already.

“Who is your current client?” Sansa took a small sip of her beverage, watching Tyrion finish his off, placing the empty mug on the counter and motioned for a second.

“Danaerys Targaryen; bright young girl filled with wide eyed dreams and hopes of giving to the least in the community,” Tyrion took a gulp of his second beer, but placed the mug on the table firmly. Habit taught her that his first drank quickly to start the buzz he so enjoyed and his next few were actually savored. “The kind of candidate that people think they want, but then don’t actually go out and vote for.”

“Is she pretty?” Sansa ran her index finger along the rim of her glass.

“Absolutely; she’ll get the votes of all the males if she keeps wearing her plunging necklines and slightly naughty but still innocent dresses out in public.” He turned his head to look at Sansa with widened green eyes. “But not near as lovely as you, I assure you.” His hand returned to her forearm, pulling her close down to him to place a firm kiss on her mouth. “I just have to be aware as her political advisor, make sure that she is going to get as many votes as she can.”

“Even if they’re from dirty old men like yourself?” Sansa wrinkled her nose as she teased him.

“The idiot’s vote can be the easiest to gain but the hardest to win,” he muttered before taking another gulp of his beer.

“I’m sure that’s true,” Sansa took a hearty drink of her own beverage, the hard liquor burning her throat gently as she swallowed. Tyrion called for the bartender and asked for a glass of water for her to chase down the fire.

“And what about you? Is my sister treating you with her general demeanor of kittens and rainbows and butterflies?”

Sansa shuddered at the thought of her boss, and sister in law, Cersei. The president and lead editor of _See Me Roar_ a burgeoning fashion magazine which Sansa had been hired to originally intern under the Lannister turned Baratheon, meeting Tyrion there and soon being hired by one of the co-owners of the publication, Margaery Tyrell.

“Oh, just sweet and gentle as can be. She’s given me the most difficult project this week; trying to get ahold of a designer who refuses to speak with anyone about his work. It’s his pride and joy that his creation’s conceptions are kept a locked secret. and he enjoys that people take what they want from their beauty. But of course Cersei wants me to get all the information about his latest designs for the Casterly Rock Runaway fair they held a month ago.”

“I should have you speak with Dany--that is Danaerys, her pet name anyways,--the girl knows how to present herself tastefully, and she is garnering a lot of attention in the press. I am sure she will be of interest in the magazines. Work the idea with Margaery if Cersei is so eager to shut you down.’

‘Yeah, I suppose,” Sansa took another biting drink of her cocktail.

“I can tell that the last thing you want to speak of is my sister, so how about we talk about finally taking a holiday to Casterly Rock.”

“We were just there last month for the fashion fair,” Sansa turned on the stool, her legs now facing him as she rested her elbow on the bar top.

“For a fashion fair, which I really could have given less fucks about. You were busy working the entire time. I hung about the house.”

‘I told you I would not have been offended if you had gone to the beach.”

“By myself?”

“Okay, fine.”

“What is the reason keeping you from wanting to go? Because it’s the town my family-- _our_ family--is from?”

“No, just, I’m afraid to leave. I’m afraid what I’ve so carefully built is going to crumble down. Cersei is just waiting for me to screw up to fire me, and I mean, Margaery has mentioned a promotion in the office, and I’ve been working so hard…”

“That it’s driving you crazy. You need to slow down, my love, or you are going to hurt yourself.”

“What, kick back and have a little fun? Is that your solution?” Sansa let out a stiff laugh.

“And that’s why we’ve come here.”

‘You’re just going to get blackout drunk and I’m going to have to hold your hand to keep you from falling into the pavement.” Sansa groaned.

“Maybe we can do something else, then,” Tyrion looked across the table to the billiards tables and dartboard.

“No way,” Sansa shook her head. “I’m not going to touch those things that people whose hands have been only the gods know where have touched.”

“You are being difficult, Sansa. It’s hard to cheer you up when you’re not going with it.”

“I never asked to be cheered up,”

“No, you asked to be left to sulk on the couch with a pizza on your lap in the darkness.”

“Now you’re being an asshole.” Sansa crossed her arms, turning away from him to face the bar. She rested her cheek on her first, sending her auburn hair over her shoulder to curtain between her and Tyrion.

In the midst of her childish sulk, the lights in the bar dimmed. “Well, looks like you got your darkness.” Tyrion muttered.

Sansa sat upright and looked at him with a disgusted grimace. She pushed herself off the stool and to the floor, turning quickly on her heels.

“Where are you going, Sansa?” Tyrion asked. “I was merely trying to lighten the mood.”

“By being a dick? Oh, that’s really pleasant,” she said over her shoulder.

“Sansa!”

Sansa sulked across the bar, taking a seat at one of the low round tables which spread out before a stage, whose lighting was now awakening. A heavyset bartender who had been standing behind the counter earlier made his way onto the stage, taking hold of the mic in his hand, the black webbing inches from his lips as he announced, “It’s Friday night, ladies and lords, which means it is time for Three Eyed Crow Karaoke.”

Sansa pressed her forehead to the table with a groan as the music to some country hit she had heard way too many times on the radio began to fill the bar. What else could go incredibly wrong tonight?

 

* * *

 

Sansa had stayed put at her table, wanting desperately to leave the scene of murdered one hit wonders and country crooners gone wrong, but she was too angry with Tyrion to return to his side and plead with him to take her home. She sat and ordered two more rounds of drinks, and tried her best to get buzzed enough to try to forget it.

She was not drinking fast enough, and her ears were aching with the need for reprieve when the bartender came back on stage, applauding the piss drunk girls for their screechy rendition of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”. Their imitation of Cyndi Lauper’s whine indicated the two had already had too much fun.

Sansa watched as the burly man pushed the mic stand downwards, taking hold of the mic as he positioned it at hip level. “We have a newbie tonight.”

“Oh god,” Sansa muttered when she saw a short shadow in the distance.

“Give it up for our regular customer, but brand new rock star, Tyrion Lannister.”

Sansa covered her face with her hands as the passing mic squealed with feedback. She had been trying to imagine how her life could have been worse in this moment, and the thought had never occurred to her that this could be the nail.

The sounds of a quick and steady drumbeat with electronic opening and heavy guitars started filling the small bar room, an anthem to Tyrion’s beloved 80s no doubt. He cleared his throat loudly over the music, and she dared peek out between her fingers at him as the lyrics began on the screen.

 _“Talking away_ , _I don't know what I'm to say_. _I'll say it anyway_ _Today's another day to find you,_ ” he began, his words were a bit slurred, and he fought a moment for balance on his black and white Converse as he looked out into the audience, his eyes narrowing. He shielded his eye line with a hand from the bright lights on the stage as he continued to belt out the A-Ha’s popular hit, ignoring the words on the screen as he already knew the ballad by heart.

His voice was not horribly, but he didn’t hit all the notes successfully. She couldn’t help but smile at him as he gripped the microphone with two stubby hands and belted “ _Take me on, take on me!_ ” as loud as he could.

The audience seemed to enjoy his performance as well, laughing and clapping as he moved onto the next verse.

 _“So needless to say_ _I'm odds and ends_. _But I'm me stumbling away_ , _Slowly learning that life is OK. Say after me, ‘It's no better to be safe than sorry.’”_

He pointed to Sansa as soon as he caught sight of her in the midst of the verse. “ _Take on me, take me on!! I’ll be gone, in a day or two!”_ His voice cracked as he tried to sustain the high note.

“This is for you, Sansa!” His throaty voice was easily marked as that of a drunken man’s, and he held tightly to the mic stand. “I love you, babe!” He pointed once more.

The audience turned to look to see who he was shouting at in the midst of the solo, and when she was spotted, she was encouraged forward to the front of the stage. Sansa felt her cheeks burn red as the attention came upon her.

The two drunk girls from early came up to her, grabbing hold of her wrists and pulling her toward the stage. Tyrion was swaying to the instrumental solo, his shaggy blond curls waving from side to side, the strings of his sweatshirt swaying with him. He looked more punk rock than rock n roll in his grey and black striped shirt and deep blue jeans, and Sansa couldn’t help but let out a healthy laugh as she took in her husband. He was too involved in his performance to notice as he returned to the chorus once more.

His eyes were closed again, one hand on the mic the other extended out to his side as if he were about to take off in flight on just one half of his body. “ _Take on me, take me onnnnn! I’ll be gonnneeeee, in a dayor twoooooo_.”

Sansa was pulled to the front of the stage, standing before her husband who was having the time of his intoxicated life. Her mouth was locked in a smile as he opened his eyes and looked at her. “ _Take onnnn meeeee, take meeeee onnnnn!!! I’lll be gonneeee in a daaayyyyyyy._ ”

The final note was extremely off-key, but Tyrion seemed unconcerned with the poor ending. He threw the mic stand to the side and went to the edge of the stage, grabbing her cheeks in both of his hands and kissing her wetly on the mouth. His tongue was thick and tasted like beer, but Sansa kissed him senselessly anyways, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck.

“One more song, one more song!” The crowd chanted. Tyrion was pulling at Sansa’s hand, beckoning her onstage.

“Oh, hell no,” Sansa pulled back.

“Come on, love,” Tyrion pulled her again. Sansa conceded with the roll of her eyes, her long legs stepping up onto the short stage next to Tyrion. The DJ started the next song immediately, Sansa being handed a microphone by a female bartender who had stopped her check-ins with the patrons to observe the fun.

“You should know this one; it’s been update a little but-”

“Come on!” Tyrion encouraged her to return to his side. She held her mic nervously, staring at the blinking television screen before them, the drums and electric guitars driving another 80s song forward. The words on the screen appeared in pink and she took a deep breath.

“ _Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick and think of you_.” She continued, her confidence waning as she recited the words to a song she shared with her mother a life time ago.

“ _You say “go slow” and I fall behind. The secondhand unwinds…_ ”

Tyrion’s deep voice joined her, startling at first, but soon strengthening her own voice. “ _If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find me, time after time. If you fall, I will catch, I’ll be waiting, time after.”_

She gave the second verse to Tyrion, her hands shaking less as she looked down at him and not the crowd, a smile creeping across her mouth. He reached out and grabbed hold of her hanging hand, squeezing it tightly as he looked up at her, repeating a promise he loved to assure her of. “ _If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find me, time after time_.”

Sansa felt her anger dissipate as her heart swelled with warm and pride. She confidently belted the bridge, closing her eyes and holding tight to Tyrion’s hand. “ _After my picture fades, our darkness has turned to gray, watching through the windows, you’re wondering if I’m okay_.”

“ _And you say “go slow”, and I fall behind. The secondhand unwinds. The drum beats out of time._ ” Tyrion interrupted her.

She joined him in the chorus, her heart swelling and her voice soaring. She let out a laugh as Tyrion let go of her hand to dramatically fly his hand out to the side once more, his curly hair a mess from his energetic swaying and singing.

“ _If you’re lost you can look, and you will find me- time after time. If you fall I will catch I’ll be waiting,”_

 _“I will be waiting.”_ Tyrion cried out emphatically over Sansa, and she nearly stopped, containing her laugh into just a smile.

“ _Time after time, time after time, time after time. Time after tiiiimmmmeee.”_

As the two finished, the small crowd in the bar gave a standing ovation, clapping and whistling for the two. Tyrion pulled Sansa close and kissed her deeply once more. Sansa knelt down, embracing him in a hug, her nose tucked into his neck. He hugged her back, his arms tight around her back.

 

* * *

 

“I had fun,” she assured him later as he led her out of the bar, her hand in his. He looked up with a smile across his mouth.

“I knew you would, but like I said, the fun is only just beginning.” He winked at her. Sansa sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. But she followed him anyways down the darkened streets to their car to eventually return to their home outside the city and crawl into bed with a new energy in her step.


	2. Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written for cristian-alicea over on tumblr...he has made some really nice edits for things i've been longing for as well as one inspired by Family Matters (which, I know, I need to update...working on it!!). This is a rewrite of the Purple Wedding, exploring the what-if AU of Tyrion and Sansa leaving the wedding instead of being stopped.
> 
> Prompt: What if Sansa and Tyrion were allowed to leave Joffrey's wedding feast? What would they talk about, before the Kingsguard and Dontos come for Tyrion and Sansa respectively, now that Sansa realizes that they are truly on the same team?

They were a pair of dwarfs; one riding an ugly grey dog and the other a spotted sow, both wearing painted wooden armour. Their shields were bigger than they, their lances likewise. Sansa felt the same pain Tyrion must have felt when she studied the colors of the makeshift armor—the one upon the dog wore gold with a black stag painted on his shield, the other wore grey and white with a wolf upon his. Their mounts were girded to match. Sansa could feel her cheeks burn with shame; Joffrey was making a mock of the two of them. How glad she was that she and Tyrion were so far from the dais. Joffrey and Tommen were howling in laughter, and Cersei chuckled, even Lord Tywin looked as amused as her father in law was capable of.

Sansa could feel her hands shake, but Tyrion grabbed her hand tighter. "Wear your weakness like an armour, my lady. Do not be burdened by their laughs."

How much the more did he suffer because of this mockery. Sansa did not want to watch, but the spectacle was before them. She thought of getting up to leave, but wondered what Joffrey would do to her.

The dwarfs began a show of dropping weapons and smacking each other in a struggle to retrieve them. She hid her face under her hand as the two began to mount their rides. She could not bear to see the poor people humiliated. They were as much a victim as she was; it was not fair to blame them. Their life was at stake, she knew how that felt.

She did not look until one of the dwarfs yelled "I yield, I yield,". Then she dared to glance up to see the pair in a sexual position, her cheeks burning hotter for them. The two had fallen from their steeds and were locked together, one with his wooden breeches on the ground, the other beneath.

"Oh, Tyrion," Sansa was surprised at the sudden rise of emotion which burned her throat. Her whisper was husky. "I am sorry."

He looked up at her; his eyes were angry, but she could see the hurt beneath them. She shed a tear for her little lord husband. This was family, what cruelty was this to treat them so? Sansa reached her hand up to wipe away the tears.

"Cry not, Sansa." Tyrion assured her. "Or at least not for me, but for the two being used for laughs."

"Please, let us go, my lord."

"A champion! We have a champion!" Joffrey cried. The hall quieted at the king's cry. Sansa looked up and saw Margaery sitting next to the king calmly. Anger swelled in Sansa's breast at the girl, and her heart felt as if it had been stabbed. She thought that Margaery was in support of her and Tyrion, how had she not stopped such an incident?

"Not a true champion, though. A true champion defeats all challengers. Who else will challenge our tiny champion?" Sansa's heart pounded at the smile which lit up the boy's cruel face. "Uncle!"

"No!" Sansa's protest was a whisper, not loud enough for the king. But enough for Tyrion. He took her hand once more, squeezing it.  _This is not right! He is of your blood! How dare you treat him this way?! I would_ never  _do this to Arya…and she stuck sheep shift under my mattress!_  Oh how she wanted to scream all of this.

She watched in horror as Tyrion stood on the table, accepting his nephew's change. Sansa bit her lip hard, trying to keep her tears inside. "Your Grace, I'll ride the pig…but only if you ride the dog!"

"Me? I'm no dwarf. Why?"

"Why, you are the only man in the hall I am certain of defeating!"

"Oh, Tyrion, no." Sansa breathed. He was signing his death warrant. She would be a widow much sooner than she thought.

He crawled back into his seat after properly upsetting the king and blowing a kiss to the pouting Cersei. Sansa reached out to place her hand on his arm.

"My lord, that was very foolish." She could see that the laughs filling the hall were hurting him. "Please, my lord, let us go."

"My lord, the king!" Ser Garlan warned. Sansa looked up to see Joffrey charging toward the two. He was red-faced, staggering as he carried the wedding chalice in both hands.

"Your Grace!" Tyrion began. Joffrey then upended the cup all over Tyrion. Sansa gasped in shock, naturally jumping back. But the liquid soaked into her sleeve she had been holding onto her husband's arm with.

"How do you like that, Imp?" Joffrey mocked. Sansa was frozen as Joffrey looked down at her.

"That was ill done, Your Grace." Ser Garlan said quietly. Sansa was awed at the knight's bravery.

"Not at all, Ser Garlan." Tyrion let the anger go. He knew he had gone too far. "Not every king would think to honor such a humble subject by serving him from his own royal chalice. A pity the wine spilled."

"It did not spill! And I was not serving you, either!" Joffrey was not going to take the retreat, the lion had been leashed.

"My sweet king," Finally Queen Margaery had shown up, her arms reaching around Joffrey's shoulders to brush his hair. "come, return to your place, there's another singer waiting."

Lady Olenna interrupted and Sansa took the moment to brush as much wine from her lord husband's face. His glance up to her to show his thankfulness.

"Ser Addam has a toast he wants to make as well. Your Grace, please!" Margaery pleaded.

"I have no wine! How can I drink a toast if I have no wine? Uncle Imp, you can serve me. Since you won't joust you'll be my cupbearer."

Tyrion pushed Sansa away. He would again take the embarrassment upon himself, would not let her be dragged into this argument one way or another. "I would be most honored."

"It is not meant to be an honor!" Joffrey was red with anger. "Bend down and pick up my chalice!"

Sansa watched Tyrion obey, wincing when Joff kicked the chalice out of her husband's reach. "Pick it up! Are you as clumsy as you are ugly?"

Tyrion had to crawl under the table to get it, and Sansa felt her heart break once again. "Good, now fill it dwarf," A serving girl came over to fill the cup. "No, on your knees, dwarf." Tyrion complied, raising the heavy cup. She could see him wince in preparation for another bathing. Sansa wanted to say something, to end this. He had saved her when she was being beaten and stripped before Joffrey. Why could she say nothing?

She was relieved to see Joffrey take the chalice and drink from it. "You can get up now, Uncle."

Tyrion rose with a struggle, Sansa put her hand out to help him, but Ser Garlan saved the man from further embarrassment and beat Sansa to her husband's aid. Joffrey and Cersei laughed, Sansa cursed them.

"Your Grace. They are bringing the pie. Your sword is needed." Lord Tywin's voice was even and nonplussed. Sansa took the moment to look down at Tyrion who was brushing himself off with angry thrusts of his hands.

"The pie?" Joffrey took Margaery by the hand. "Come, my lady, it's the pie."

Sansa was glad the attention was off them once again. She turned to her husband, trying to help him calm down somehow. He was angry, and she knew he was cursing the pie which sat before the couple.

Margaery had stopped Joffrey from using Widow's Wail as the pie cutter, so Joffrey had commanded a sword from Ser Ilyn Payne. Sansa shuddered at the name, flashbacks of her father's head falling to the ground, bloody and gruesome, flashed before her eyes. She could not stop the reaction.

Ser Ilyn appeared and handed over a sword which seemed too familiar to Sansa. She studied the sword as the weapon was passed from executioner to king. It was six feet of ornate silver bright with runes. Ruby eyes winked on a dragonglass carved grinning skull on the pommel.

"What sword is that?" Sansa could feel her heart hasten once again as she turned away from Tyrion. More humiliation. "What has Ser Ilyn done to my father's sword?" Her head was growing light. Tears again beating against her eyes.  _Why is each wedding and its feast a torture!_

Tyrion reached for her, grabbing her hand. He pulled her close against him. "Shh, Sansa." His hand rubbed over the small of her back. Sansa watched in horror as the great sword swung down into the pie, the joined hands of Joffrey and Margaery held it. Sansa was choking back sobs as the doves flew from under the crust. Sansa wanted more than anything to leave. She could not catch her breath, something even Tyrion noticed as the two were served hot pigeon pie.

"You are deathly pale, my lady," Tyrion said. "You need a breath of cool air, and I need a fresh doublet. It is beyond time we leave for a moment. Come."

She wrapped her hand around his hooked arm, lifting her skirts carefully to avoid the spilled wine. She held her breath as she and Tyrion walked quickly down the hall, but neither of them was stopped.

She walked arm in arm with Tyrion back to their apartments, neither saying a word to the other in the fear that their absence would be noticed and they would be called back. It was only until he led her through the door and into their quarters that she realized she had been shallowly breathing, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

"At least we were able to slip away," Tyrion remarked, his voice seemed to echo in the quiet.

"I…I…I am sorry, my lord, that you were treated so unkindly." Sansa offered her apologies, watching as Tyrion began to pull his beautiful dusky blue doublet from his body. She shied as he divested, turning away from him.

"They will be sorry as well; I will have the two dwarves paid twice over for their trouble here. The real cruelty was involving them in our familial dispute."

Sansa took to the lounge chair, resting her head in her hands, the tension in her neck growing and causing her head pains.

"Do you suppose we should return to the supper this evening?" Sansa dared to look at her husband. He had pulled the doublet from his body and stood in his handsome breeches and long under tunic. She watched as he crossed the room to where the wine sat on a small table.

"I think we've enough wine here, my lady. It is not as fashionable or rich as the wine in the Great Hall, but it comes with less humiliation." He poured one glass to the brim, filling another half way. He took the two in hand carefully, making his way to where Sansa reclined.

"I am shocked at the mockery they made of you, my lord," Sansa took the lesser filled cup from his hand with the slight nod of her head.

"Do not speak of the ills done to me when they have served you much worse, my lady wife." Tyrion answered her, taking a long draught from his cup. "That was ill to mock your brother's death and to flaunt your family crest in such distaste—traitor or not. If anything, it was a waste of time to focus on us when they arranged the whole fucking wedding to celebrate them." He shook his head. "Many a fine coin could have been saved than being spent on that shit show. And then for Joffrey to celebrate the desecration of your father's sword? No, Sansa Stark, it is you I should be making all the apologies to. You have been wronged and hurt, and I vowed to protect you. A good lot my protection did tonight." He took a gulp of wine once more.

Sansa did not know how to answer, so she brought the cup in her hands to her lips and tipped the bitter liquid into her mouth. It was strong and heady, but she choked it down nonetheless. She remembered a time Tyrion had asked if she drank wine.  _When I have to_ , had been her response.  _Well, today you have to_. It had been their wedding. Had he wanted her to forget that painful moment? Had he wanted to spare her that day as well? Being a proper lady, Sansa was not even tempted to intoxicate herself that evening…but perhaps this one might call for the proper time to become too drunk to stand…

"I am sorry you cannot go to the godswood either," Tyrion commented, looking heavenward as he attempted to make awkward conversation. Sansa shifted on the lounge, allowing him room to take a seat next to her.

"You tried, my lord, I will not forget that, ever." Sansa finally answered him, looking into her cup. She was gathering the courage to take another sip, to try to forget, but her bravery was yet again failing.

"What do you mean?" He turned and looked at her; his brow line was soft, his eyes moist. He was halfway to drunk now, as he had been nearly drowning in the wine at the wedding.

"Your protection, my lord," Sansa stole a glance at him warily. "You have done your best to be kind to me; I am sure that his Grace might have done worse to me. He could have mocked me. And you saved me from his wrath before our…union."

Tyrion shook his head and let out a hearty laugh. "My protection meant you were to marry me anyways. This was not the life you dreamed of, Sansa. You did not dream of marrying a hideous dwarf, whose family crest was your worst enemy. You did not dream of being cast aside by the king, to have your brothers and mother and father killed. You did not dream of any of this, Lady Sansa. And yet you must watch Margaery Tyrell get all that she fucking desires tonight."

"But she will be married to him." Sansa's voice was emotionless. It stopped Tyrion's rant, and she could feel him shift to look at her. "I do not know when Joffrey will start hurting Margaery, maybe she is more clever than me and she will be spared it all, but he will always have the power and arrogance to call his guards to hit her. He can have her sitting before him on the floor of the courts, calling her a traitor for situations and battles she will have no control over, having his best Gold Cloaks beating her with a broadsword and fists. He can hurt her in ways I am afraid to imagine."

"Then don't," Tyrion reached toward her slowly, placing a warm hand on her wrist.

"But you…you have been kind to me. You have been gentle. You…you could have taken my maidenhead by your right, my lord." Sansa hung her head, her fingers gripping her cup tighter. "But you did not." She swallowed, her throat tight and hard. "Why?"

"You are a noble lady, Sansa, and not just in birth. But in grace and measure and wits. You are also a mere child, my wife. I cannot justify any of those actions, acceptable or decreeable or commanded by my fucking father because it would be hurting a young lady of merit. You, Sansa Stark, are most like the only beautiful, innocent being I will ever have charge of, and if winning your affection is something I must wait for, then I will find my patience."

"That is very compassionate of you, my lord." Sansa turned to him.

His square face was marred by the scar which stretched across his face, his short nose badly damaged by the wound he had suffered. His green eyes were hidden under a thick brow, his small mouth twisted into a scowl.

But she was beginning to see what Septa Mordane had once said to her, what she had long doubted. She had to look to see the beauty in everyone. Perhaps he was not beautiful like his family, but he was more attractive in spirit and in deed.

She was not sure what had possessed her, and did not doubt that it was the wine she had ingested, but she could feel herself leaning toward him, the space between their faces decreasing. She closed her eyes, tilting her head as she could begin to smell the wine that was on his breath.

His mouth was soft, and he gently pressed against hers. She had kissed him chastely before, because he asked her, and she could not say no as a dutiful wife, but now she was doing this because she wanted to. And she could feel the carefulness of his kiss, the way his lips were tightening as if to hold himself back.

She parted her own mouth slightly, her breath tickling his lips, and it encouraged him to kiss her more deeply; his tongue tasted of wine, only sweeter.

Their short embrace was interrupted by the sound of clanging bells. Sansa jerked back, Tyrion turning on the lounge to look out the windows into the evening sky. The air was heavy with its toiling.

"What has happened?" Sansa asked, watching Tyrion jump down from beside her. He went to the window.

"Those sounds like the bells of death. Something must have happened at the wedding."

A firm knock on the door caused Sansa to jump once more, her hands gathering nervously in her lap as Tyrion cried out for the person to enter.

It was Podrick, his dark eyes wide as he looked at Tyrion and then Sansa. Her husband's squire looked winded and uneasy, but he always balked when he caught sight of Sansa.

"What is it, Pod?" Tyrion demanded. The boy forced a swallow.

"The king…Joffrey that is…he's…he's been poisoned and he's dead!" Podrick exclaimed. Sansa felt her heart leap in joy, and looked to Tyrion whose face looked less excited.

"Why did you come to me in such a hurry, Pod?"

"They accuse you…and your lady wife…" Podrick replied. "They are being sent to find you."

"Shit," Tyrion swore. "Podrick, take Sansa and make sure she is taken outside of the city."

"What?" Sansa cried out in protest. "No, I will not leave you, my lord. Clearly there has been a mistake; we left the feast—"

"All the more reason to make us look suspicious," Tyrion sighed. "Go, Sansa. I may be spared because of my heritage, I may not. But you will be given no mercy. If I die, I die. But I will not allow you to perish with me. I promised to protect you, and now I will." Tyrion had returned to her side, took her hands in his, was urging her to leave.

"Yes, my lord," she closed her eyes. What was this feeling that was growing in her chest, ballooning up into her throat and mouth?

Tyrion pulled her close and placed a swift kiss on her lips, then pulled her to her feet, pushing her toward Podrick. "Go, Sansa, and get far from here. Podrick will protect you,"

"Yes, m'lord," the squire answered. He tailed Sansa out of the apartments.

The two began their run down the stairs, eagerly hoping to clear the only way up to the apartments before guards came in search of the Lord Lannister and his Stark wife. But luck was not kind to them and several guards were ascending the stairs. Podrick took hold of a sword at his hip, challenging the men to a match. He cleared enough room for Sansa to slip past, screaming for her to run and instructing her that he would find her later.

Sansa hurried down the darkening streets, crying out when her arm was grabbed. She was pulled into an ally, a hand clamped over her mouth preventing her from screaming. A hooded figure pinned her against the walls of a house, and she feared that she would be killed more gruesomely.

But the man held her quiet as more guards ran past; once they did he let go and lurched forward to reveal a breath thick with alcohol as he introduced himself in a drunken bow.

"It is I, Ser Dontos, come to take you away, m'lady. To where it is safe."

Sansa turned to look back at the tower that she had dwelt in with her husband. She closed her eyes, could feel the knight's firm grip on her arms still. Her heart was pounding in her ears. "Where are we going?" She asked with a shaky voice.

"Far away, m'lady. Far from the claws that rip and the teeth that bite. A place you will never have to worry about the Lannisters again."

As Ser Dontos pulled Sansa back into the street, she found his words to be nothing more than a lie. She would worry because she had accidentally come to trust one of them in the smallest of ways. Had not realized his kindness until it was seemingly too late.

And he was still caught in the lion's den she had been praying for many moons to be rescued from.


	3. The Trial of Our Entire Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this awhile back when essentialasair over on tumblr remixed Tyrion's trial in the event that "what if Sansa stayed?". I think this ended up coupling nicely with the previous chapter, and I need to make a conclusion based on another edit she made on her tumblr page regarding spoilers from the newest season to kinda make a triology arc. For the time being, I hope you enjoy this. Oh, and check out the video on youtube- it's titled "Sansa & Tyrion- Trial AU [Sanrion]". (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-Ljk6yyiLc)
> 
> Oh, and be sure to check out Dem's (essentialasair) sanrion edits on her tumblr page (essentialasair.tumblr.com)

Tyrion sat chained to the barrister before him, his chains clinking with every shift he made in the small podium he was placed in. He stood before the three judges; his father, Tywin Lannister, and Mace Tyrell, and The Red Viper, Oberyn Martell, waiting for them to decide his fate. He had been accused of regicide, of kinslaying. He had supposedly poisoned King Joffrey at his wedding with poisons Maester Pycelle claimed he had stolen for Sansa.

And now Shae stood before him, telling half-truths and mixed lies. She was bearing all their secrets, all their moments together before the judges and turning him into the monstrous, perverted demon monkey they all accused him to be. "I kissed him where he wanted; I licked him where he wanted…"

_And here I thought I had been in love with a whore. But they are all liars, the whole lot of them. Even my wife, Sansa, who was "spirited away" during the wedding, she has abandoned my side._

He could feel his rage growing in his belly as Shae spoke of his young Northern wife, the girl Varys had suggested made Tyrion sympathetic to the Northern cause. He could not stand to hear the lies of Shae any longer, he did not want to hear their tender moments, moments he thought indicated her love, paraded and twisted for the amusement of those around him.

 _I have been the amusement my entire life_. He shifted uncomfortably, causing his chains to rattle and shake once more. The audience behind him was stirring and whispering, shaking their heads and gasping at the sentences which poured from Shae's mouth.  _She was good at lying to me, making me feel like she wanted me, the Imp, the Demon Monkey. Of course she would know what to tell these people._

Shae finished her testimony, turning her head to look at Tyrion. Her eyes almost looked…remorseful. But Tyrion could not believe them any longer. She had lied to him far too many times, this time the lie was going to cost him his life. He wanted to stand and cry out at the men before him, at the citizens behind him, that he wished all of them dead just like Joffrey.  _You have all condemned me to death; why not allow me to condemn you?_

Shae was escorted off the witness stand by one of the guards. Tyrion pulled against the chains before him, wanting to rip himself free, turn to face the crowd he had drawn and tell them what he thought.

Until Jaime returned to his side once more. "Do you trust me?"

Tyrion could only look at him with weary green eyes, his brother was the only hope he had left, and he was not one of the many judges before him. The small man gave his older brother the slightest nod.

"Keep your mouth shut, no more outbursts. This will all be over soon." He promised his younger brother, then strode away to take his place at the side of the dais. Tyrion watched Cersei settle into her chair, a smug smile crossing her face as she adjusted her black mourning dress.

 _She wants me as dead as my father does._  Tyrion thought to himself bitterly.  _If only there had been poison in her cup as well._

He dared look at his father next, who sat before him on the throne with a stoned face, his green eyes watching Tyrion with cold distance. His face revealed no inner emotions, but Tyrion knew that his father was more than overjoyed that Tyrion appeared nothing but guilty.

As Tywin sat, so did the audience behind Tyrion, the sound of the chairs moving and ladies' shoes echoed through the silent Throne Room. The men to the sides of Tywin, Prince Oberyn to the left and Lord Tyrell to the right, sat examining Tyrion as thoroughly as he had examined them throughout the hearing. Tywin let his fingers drum the sides of the Iron Throne several times, allowing the tension in the room to build as the court waited for its next command. Jaime shifted uncomfortably toward the right side of the dais.

"The trial may call its next witness," Tywin commanded. Cersei let out another small smile, Jaime turned to see the next person who would accuse his younger brother enter.

Tyrion, out of curiosity of who could come next after his lying whore, found himself turning to look at the doors, to see who was making their way down the center of the room to the witness stand. And as he turned, he could feel himself stand, his mouth dropping open as he watched the girl proceed into the room, a mix of shock and horror overcoming him.

Down the aisle between the two benched sections of audience and through a swarm of knights came his Northern bride. Sansa Stark was dressed modestly in a soiled blue dress, and she appeared tired and worn thin. She had her hair braided intricately into the Southern style of dress, and she strode forward as those around her watched.

_I thought they had told me she was spirited away. That she was no longer here, she had abandoned me. And yet she is before me now, standing in all her beauty and elegance despite the sad mouth and the tired eyes. Why is my wife here? Surely she must stand on trial with me?_

He watched her pass him in disbelief, blinking as she took confident steps toward the witness stand. She did not turn and look at him, she did not acknowledge his presence in the room. And as she passed he could see why; her eyes were wet and filmed with tears, and he could see her struggling to swallow. She was terrified and trapped, of course she would be tired and on the verge of tears. Tyrion's body moved with her, from her entrance toward the rear of the throne room to her walk before his own podium. She did not ascend the stairs to the witness podium, however, but stood before it, as close as she could get to the judges.

"Lady Sansa of House Stark." A herald called in the lady, doomed or not she was to be given a regal entrance because of her status. Tyrion closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening to form; if Shae had told half-truths to make him look bad, surely Sansa could tell full truths and reach the same effect?

"Do you swear by all the gods that your testimony will be true and honest?" His father asked the young girl.

"I do," she nodded as she looked her father in his eyes.  _How can you resist those blue Tully eyes? When she tells you the truth, you will see it._

"This man stands accused of murdering King Joffrey, what do you know of this?" Tywin asked as he relaxed back into his chair, watching the Stark girl carefully.

Tyrion watched in amazement as Sansa slipped quietly to her knees, sinking slowly as she kept her eyes fixed on his father. Her voice was thick with tears as she opened her mouth to address the Lannister lord. "As it please your grace, I ask mercy."

Tyrion watched as Oberyn lifted his head up from its resting position on the back of the chair. He knew what it was to be angry and hateful toward the Lannister name, and surely he saw Sansa as a battered Ellia within the lion's mouth. He would be surprised by her stance of pleading mercy for her Lannister lord husband, no doubt of it. Tyrion could only look straight ahead, shaking his head as he heard Sansa's thick voice struggle against emotion, pleading for his life. She was propped before the throne gracefully on her knees still, as she pleaded. He looked up at his father, and then closed his lids, pressing a grimacing smile on his mouth in pain as his father commanded "Continue."

"I know he must be punished." Sansa continued, unwavering in her gaze with Lord Tywin.

Tyrion watched as Margaery Tyrell's eye line dropped to her feet, her mouth falling into a delicate frown. Loras, however, look at Tyrion as he shifted in his seat, raising his eyebrows at the little man in interest. Oberyn's fascination also seemed to pique as he leaned forward, placing his arm on the chair's arm rest and gripping the end with his hands, his eyes locked on Sansa's kneeling form. His eyebrows were raised and he tilted his head to the side as he began to listen more intently to the Lannister wife.

"All I ask is mercy," Sansa continued. She now looked to each of the judges, first to Lord Tyrell, then to Tywin, then to Oberyn. His father nodded his head as Sansa looked back up to him with pleading eyes.

"I will think on what you have asked, Lady Sansa. Your plea may be what your husband needs. Unfortunately he cannot do the same for you. Back to your cell, you will receive the verdict on a proper form of execution and its date when we adjure tomorrow. Perhaps your passion can spare your husband's life." He looked over at Oberyn and then Mace. "We will adjourn for now," He stood. "Toll the bells in an hour's time."

"Clear the courts!" A knight called.

Tyrion fell back in his stand, bracing himself against the barristers. Sansa had just asked to spare his life while she was doomed to have hers ended. He could hear her now, she let out a small sob as she crumpled forward on the floor. Tyrion could feel his rage building once more.  _She has been faithful to me, perhaps there was hope. But I cannot allow for her to die innocent or alone, I know she was not truly aware of what was occurring. She would have told me, the naïve young Wolf. She was used, and now she is to be tried for it. Then let us both be tried with a chance of winning._

"Father, I wish to confess." His voice was barely above a whisper, so he tried louder. "I wish to confess."

He could feel Jaime's eyes on him, dread filling the features of his brother's fair face. And Sansa, Sansa's soft sobs had stopped and she was turning to look at him. Tywin and the two other judges stopped in their tracks, returning to their seats once more. His father leaned forward.

"You wish to confess?"

Tyrion turned back to look at the audience, the people he and Sansa had fought bravely to calm and inspire during the Battle of Blackwater. Not Joffrey and Cersei, the useless monarchs they were. And this was how the crowd repaid them? Mocking them and using them as jests?

"I saved you. I saved this city. And all your worthless lives." He could feel the anger distorting his face as he seethed. He was not going to let Sansa be the only innocent victim. "And so did she. She inspired your women, calmed their fears as they hid in the walls of the city. I should have let Stannis kill you all, she should have let your woman choke on their terrors and weep for the men to hear them and kill them."

"Tyrion!" His father called to him, trying to bring back order to the court as objections and cries of outrage came from the riled audience. He tried to reorient the dwarf's speech. "Do you wish to confess?"

Tyrion watched Jaime shift nervously next to the dais. Sansa had fallen to the sides of her thighs, sitting on her hip to look up at him through tear reddened eyes. Her cheeks shimmered in the light streaming through the windows. He was more determined than ever.

"Yes, Father," Tyrion nodded. "I'm guilty, guilty!" He could not stop the words pouring from his mouth as his rage took over. "She is guilty. Is that what you want to hear?"

"You admit you and Lady Sansa poisoned the king?" Tywin stated as he looked at Tyrion with glowing green eyes. Sansa looked up at him from the floor with her soft blue ones. He glanced at her for a second, giving her a crazed smile.

"No, of that I am innocent. Of that Lady Sansa is innocent," he narrowed his eyes at his father. "I am guilty of a far more monstrous crime. I'm guilty of being a dwarf."

"You are not on trial for being a dwarf." Tywin rolled his eyes as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  _You thought this would be a straight forward and easy confession, did you not? Well you were wrong._

"Oh, yes I am. I have been on trial for that my entire life. And my lady? She is on trial for being the disgraced daughter, even though she has been married into the royal house and given protection. Will she continue to be on trial for supposed treason of which her father was never truly proven guilty and of an action she had no part in?"

Tywin was clearly growing tired of Tyrion's refusal to admit to killing Joffrey, but he was not going to give his father a false confession. "Have you nothing to say in you and your lady's defense?"

"Nothing but this," Tyrion shook his head. "We did not do it, we did not kill Joffrey. But I wish that I had." His hands were shaking in their chains as he jerked forward, looking at his father intensely. He could see Sansa shift with fright as he leaned toward her.  _I am offering you my protection, my Wolf, just bear against me as I beat this storm._ "Watching your viscous bastard die gave me more relief than a thousand lying whores." He looked toward Shae who stood toward the side of the room. Cersei shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She gripped the arm chair tightly as she moved forward to glare at her brother.

Tyrion turned now to the audience again, his chains clanking beneath his movement. "I wish I was the monster you think I am. I wish I had enough poison for the whole pack of you. I would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it!"

More objections came from the crowd, and he could hear his father stand to his feet behind him. "Ser Merryn!" Tywin called. "Ser Merryn! Escort the prisoners back to Tyrion's cell."

"I will not give my life, or Sansa's, for Joffrey's murder. And I know we will get no justice here, no matter how much my wife begs for mercy towards me." Tyrion's throat was raw from the growls which erupted with his rage. Sansa was being pulled to her feet by Ser Merryn, igniting the smaller man's anger even further. "So I will let the gods decide my fate." He pulled back for a moment, glancing for a heartbeat at Sansa who was wincing at the grip the knight had her in. "My wife and I are of one heart and one flesh, thus we are one person to the gods. And I demand a trial by combat, to be decided for the both of us."

Margaery Tyrell's eyes widened and she raised her head in shock at Tyrion's demand. The audience became louder and began to point and shake their fists at the words and insults the Imp had thrown their way. Tyrion ignore them all, looking only to Sansa whose blue eyes watched him in fear. Jaime was visible shaken and troubled, struggling to swallow. Cersei looked more pale and irritated that the trial was to continue on longer. A cold determination crossed her fair features as Tyrion knew she was deciding her champion. The only person who did not look upset by his decision was Prince Oberyn, he leaned forward in interest.

Tyrion found himself staring down his father as Ser Merryn came to his stand to release him from the barrister and push him down the stairs. Tyrion stumbled forward, but regained his footing, falling instep beside his lady wife. She glanced down at him with sad blue eyes, but did not speak until they had been returned to his cell.

Ser Merryn released his chains giving him a small push through the door. Sansa came next, though Ser Merryn was more rough with her, pushing her hard enough to cause her to fall. Tyrion was quick to her side, helping her raise herself to her knees, pulling the straw from her hair.

"You could have taken the mercy plea, my lord." She was fighting back tears, her voice muffled by them.

"And have your fate sealed, so young and caged? Have you not been given enough cruelty? If you are to die, let me die by your side. But I have given us a chance." He held her hand, not releasing it from the hold he had obtained when helping her to sit up.

"How much of a chance is it?" Sansa looked at him, her eyes dancing back and forth as she looked into his.

"Enough," he kissed her cheek.

"May the gods finally be good to us," she let a tear slip down her pale face. Tyrion reached forward to wipe it away, only to be engulfed in an embrace. It wasn't romantic or sexual; it was a desperate need to hang onto something. He pulled her closer, placing his face into the crook of her neck, smelling her soft sweet Sansa smell.

"I won't let you go," he whispered as she hugged him tighter. He then placed a kiss on her cheek, closing his eyes and allowing a tear to slip down his own scarred cheek as he hugged her close.


End file.
